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smiled at her brother’s fervor. “Now,dear, I hear that Ementish will retire in two years. You’d do very well in that posting. In the meantime, I’ll see if you can’t work at one of the southern subsidiary links. You’d be young to be on your own in some of those isolated waystations, but you’d be getting such good practice at catching and sending.”
    “Sending drones?” Afra was contemptuous. He’d been catching drones at Hasardar’s bequest for two years. The novelty had long since worn off. For his dear Goswina to recommend such a posting was a blow to his self-esteem. He was a T-4, ’path and ’port. He could do better than that for himself.
    “You did rather let the family down, you know, Affie,” she went on, sweetly chiding. “Father expected you to get highest honors, not just a mere First . . .”
    “Mere First?” Afra was appalled, for he had worked very hard to achieve that standard. No student in his year had been given a highest honors degree, and he had been one of only three Firsts. But, once again, he sensed that her deeper thoughts were distracted by what scholastic achievements her young sons were likely to make. “Thanks,” Afra said, trying not to sound bitter and, before she could ask him to mind his nephews, excused himself from her neatly kept house.
    So he began to look at the other job opportunities for T-4’s. As all his training, all his background, had been to prepare him for the Tower, he was woefully short of the requirements for other sorts of assignments and would have to go through an apprentice year to refocus his Talent. Besides which, he wanted to get
off
Capella.
    He toyed with the idea of asking Capella’s help: she was always pleasant to him when he encountered her in the Complex gardens or in the leisure facilities. But Capella might think him ungrateful, wanting to leave his native planet, and his request would most certainly embarrass his family.
    His chance came when he heard that the Rowan had fired yet another T-4 from Callisto Station. It took every bit of credit he had in the meager personal account he hadstarted with Damitcha’s coin to courier his profile to Callisto in the mailbag. He had spent almost a full day composing the accompanying note, and several hours before he was satisfied with the slanting lines of his calligraphy, much influenced by Damitcha’s book. The note was brief enough, mentioning only that his sister Goswina remembered the Rowan most fondly from the course at Altair and would the Rowan consider his application to Callisto Tower.
    He endured suspense greater than when he had awaited his test results, and he’d thought that period had been nearly insupportable. He figured that he couldn’t expect an answer for several days, despite the speed with which FT&T mail packets were flipped about the galaxy.
    Therefore, he was totally surprised when Hasardar called him on the vid.
    “You’ve lucked out, lad,” Hasardar said, waving a red transport chit, the kind that meant priority handling. “Soon’s you can throw some things together, you’re to find a capsule to fit your long bones.”
    “A capsule? Where’m I being sent?”
    “Callisto, you lucky dog. The Rowan’s looking for a T-4 and you’re to get a trial.”
    Afra stared at Hasardar, momentarily paralyzed by news he had candidly never thought to receive.
    “You’re to go to Callisto, Afra?” his mother demanded in a feeble tone, as stunned as he was.
    Having had no inkling as to the nature of the stationmaster’s call, Afra had not activated a privacy setting, so his parents had heard every word.
    “Yes, indeed, Cheswina,” Hasardar repeated, rather surprised by the Lyon family’s muted reaction to their son’s great good fortune, “Afra’s been ordered to Callisto.”
    “But how would Callisto have known of Afra?” Gos asked, staring at his son as if the young man had changed shape.
    Afra affected a shrug, keeping a very tight control on his